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In short, the universe has conspired against Sakusa Kiyoomi and now he must suffer. Had only the married Miya couple decided against having children, perhaps dedicated their time and money into more vacations together instead, then maybe things would be different. Less fortunate for Suna Rintarou, certainly, but that is a sacrifice Kiyoomi is willing to make if only to avoid ever having met the older Miya twin.
miya_atsumu has started a live video now
miya_atsumu has started a live video 1m
miya_atsumu has started a live video 1m
Kiyoomi feels instinctively that he does not want to know whatever Miya is doing now, but between Miya’s technological incompetence and his own compulsive addiction to checking every phone alert, he doesn't really have much of a choice. He sighs to himself. Of course, the one time he apparently has something to say, Miya chooses to go live; he might not enjoy having an internet presence, but he does like to look at his own face and has no regard for the stress levels of the Jackals’ PR management team.
He’s in Kiyoomi’s apartment, which means whatever is going on now is only going to get worse for the PR team. He can guarantee that Miya is on some bullshit, and he can promise that he is not a big enough person to not immediately call him out on it. Going through his usual routine once inside, Kiyoomi finds the man himself frantically messing with his phone on his couch; he crosses his arms and waits to be noticed.
“Please fuckin’ work alr—thank fuck. Hello internet! Save my life please! I'm at Omi’s and he’ll be here any second—’kay, that little chat thing moves kinda fast, don't it? Er, yeah, I got a key. No, ‘m not gonna walk ‘round like on MTV Cri—this isn’t important! I'm ignoring the movin’ words now ‘cos Omi’s gonna—what do ya mean behind—?”
“Miya.” Kiyoomi doesn't like to fight to speak, so he waits. Miya yelps, Christ and Mary, Omi-kun ya oughta announce yaself for fuck—and then despite his trust in the man, Kiyoomi feels a spike of anxiety and must ask. “Did you—?”
“Yeah, I showered and I changed into indoor clothes. I didn't fuck up that bad.”
Kiyoomi relaxes. “But you did fuck up?”
He seems to remember he’s holding his phone and points it at Kiyoomi. The taller man isn't too concerned; he is almost entirely certain that Miya didn't even flip the camera and is in fact still recording his own face. “Omi, yer being recorded. Ya can't kill me.”
“Why would I?” He rolls his eyes. So fucking dramatic. “Put your phone down and oh, never mind. I understand now.”
“Omi. Omi, I'm sorry, okay? I’ll pay ya back,” he promises, trying to keep his distance.
“It was new, Miya,” Kiyoomi snaps. “I haven't even used it yet.”
“There was a spider! It was yer fancy face machine thing or my life, Omi!”
“And how old are you again? Pretty sure you've had a long life.”
“Omi,” Miya warns. “Ya gotta stay—Om—Omi, please. You stay on that side—no, seriously. Remember! We’re friends! Friends don't murder each other!”
“I can get you a list of friends that did.”
“That is not the point, and ya know it, stupid college boy!”
“You broke my brand new facial brush to kill a spider.”
“Oi, don't get all high an’ mighty like ya don't kill spiders, too!”
“I'm from the city, Miya! You're the countryside treehugger savior to all the fucking bugs in my apartment. You bought me a spider cup.”
“I fuckin’ know I did, but s’different when they be posted up close and personal ‘nough to swap spit! I was scared for my life, Omi!”
“I should hope so. You shattered the damn thing. It’s in pieces, Miya.”
“Don't mock me, Omi, 'm being ser—oh fuck. My phone is gonna die, oh shit. Internet, if I die, Omi did it. Ah, but he can't go to prison! He won't survive there! Ya gotta tell Samu to pin it on some other bastard or else we’ll both be gone and the team’ll lose to fuckin’ Adlers ‘cos they’ll be in mourning—”
“Miya, stop talking. For the love of—”
The doorbell rings, and Miya’s phone dies.
The MSBY Jackals official account informs all the souls unfortunate enough to witness the live stream that Sakusa Kiyoomi did not, in fact, murder Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu tweets a series of laughing faces and promises for all the world to see that he is willing to lie on the stand as per his brother’s dying wish. He thanks Sakusa for taking care of his brother, then responds to a shitpost that questions the homoromantic pun with more laughing emojis.
The internet picks these interactions apart, a not inconsiderable amount of the discourse centering around Miya’s safety, predominantly conveyed through thirst tweets about protecting the setter’s tits and thighs. This type of volleyball news doesn’t usually trend for too long, and among those who are interested, they all know how dramatic Miya gets only to come out completely fine on the other side, so within a couple days things are back to normal.
Which is when Komori Motoya decides to ruin his cousin’s life, the now-estranged relative posting screenshots of his text thread with Miya. Miya’s largely illiterate, so after confirming that he was not brutally murdered, he sent a series of decreasingly covert photos of Kiyoomi eating the umeboshi onigiri delivered from the better twin’s restaurant, concluding with a selfie of the two of them less than a foot apart to prove there is no bad blood. Motoya blows that one up and captions it with something unforgivable, so Kiyoomi tells him to delete his account.
Osamu is apparently close enough to his boyfriend’s favorite teammate to post part of his own thread: omiomi hasta tantrum a bit n he’ll love me again. He corroborates that Miya begged him to send one of his part-timers with the rushed order and only got on live in case Kiyoomi got home before the onigiri arrived. The way the internet runs with these posts almost makes Kiyoomi wish the onigiri and new facial brush on Miya’s credit card hadn't been enough to placate him that night, but he’s a reasonable guy.
Kiyoomi sees everything online, the implications and the text posts and the video compilations, but he doesn't really mind. There's no harm in it. He doesn't have a problem with people rewriting homosocial friendships into queer relationships; the reverse has been done maliciously since forever, and it isn't like some random fan’s fantasies about his sex life are personally affecting him. If people like to pass the time making up benign stories about the daily lives of others, that's their business.
It’s not a big deal, so he ignores them. Well. He watches and reads but does not otherwise interact. Except to send the funny ones to Miya from his private account. There are a lot of videos that are amusing—ones of them dicking around together, of himself laughing at Miya’s failures, of the parts of their serve competitions that the court cameras caught.
Other videos, ones he doesn't send to Miya, are more confusing. Somebody posted a clip from two years ago, titled Atsumu Simpin, and Kiyoomi is entirely lost. It’s from when he was supposed to join Kenma streaming some zombie video game, but his hypermobile wrists decided instead to ruin his month. He was stuck in a brace and, bored with the postseason calm, Miya offered to take his place. The whole thing was a dismal failure.
“The fuck, Miya, you scared? Shoot it,” he shouts through the video.
“You do it!” There are added annotations around the face Kiyoomi made in response to that. Their avatar keeps running away. “Omi, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, the keys are so simple. Just hit—”
“But he’s wearing yer face.”
“Okay, first of all, fuck you, it doesn't look—”
“He even has yer moles!”
“Oh my god, Miya.”
“And while there've been many, many times I wanted to clock ya a good one, ‘m not gonna actually do it.”
“Don't hit me, hit the demon monster thing on the screen so that we don't die, Miya.”
“I need a burner account to bully you.” Over the game over sounds, Kenma, with a crown drawn over their head, grimaces, “This is too embarrassing to have on my main. I feel like I should blame Kuro for this.”
“You should,” Miya scowls. “Everything is that stupid rooster’s fault.”
“If Kuroo-san was my partner, I bet he would've lasted more than two rounds,” Kiyoomi grumbles.
“Did… did ya just make a sex joke, Omi?” Miya disregards his incredulity in favor of outrage. “I’m a better lay than the rooster!”
Kenma arches a brow. “And how would you know?”
The video ends when Kiyoomi slaps his hand directly over Miya’s mouth and declares, “No. We are not having this conversation. Thanks for having us, Kenma.”
The clip is only proof that Miya is a fucking idiot with his head in the gutter, but that’s never been in question. How does his incompetence as a gamer show them in a relationship? Or is it his petty competitiveness that’s the supposed proof? Kiyoomi tries to shrug it off, since clearly whoever posted this is definitely one of Miya’s fans—only someone who’s a fan of Miya would be able to frame that video as pining, presumably because they’d have to be equally annoying and totally unaware of common sense—but it sticks with him.
Two days later, after falling a little deeper down the rabbit hole than he intended, Kiyoomi is appalled to learn that some of their fans actually believe he and Miya are dating. He thought most of the posts were jokes—along the lines of wouldn't it be funny if… Which was all well and good, a bit of creative fun he didn't have a problem with. But Kiyoomi has a compulsive need to correct mistruths, and he’s come to realize that too many people honestly think he’s in a real-life relationship with Miya. These aren't just fanmade fantasies anymore, if they ever were—and isn't that a terrifying thought to behold. These are beliefs and they’re wrong, and Kiyoomi Does Not Like That.
He needs to figure out how to fix this. He’d rather die than tell Miya they’re done with the serving competition; the bastard would take it as an admission of defeat, which is unacceptable. They know each other too well to stop picking on one another, so their fans will always be able to curate that content. Plus, Miya is the only one on the team who is the same brand of bitch as Kiyoomi—they have no choice but to continue shittalking together.
Then that leaves the nickname, doesn't it? He can tell Miya to drop it, but if he explains why he’s actually serious about it this time, Miya might take that to mean he’s bothered by the rumor and the setter will purposefully fuel more dating rumors just to annoy him. Only if Miya is bothered by the rumors, he thinks sourly, will he stop with the nickname. What would he call him, then, back to Sakkun? Sakusa? Kiyoomi gets a feeling in his chest that he tries very hard to ignore, except—
Oh god. Does he want Miya to simp over him? Fuck, he does. Sakusa Kiyoomi wants that dumpster fire. The hypercritical setter with endearing phonics and the temperament of a three year old. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, and he’s about to make it everybody’s problem.
Kiyoomi lasts one additional day (sixteen hours, but it counts) before he can no longer bear the physical pain of holding back the urge to enlighten the public. He tells Miya that their fans actually think they’re dating, and he provides proof, a selection of random posts, and he explains, because Miya knows about his Thing, that they must be corrected. In a sudden bout of decency, Miya suggests that they stream together now, and in light of Kiyoomi’s concern about his nap time in thirty minutes, he even promises they’ll be quick.
That's why they’re here, sitting together on Miya’s couch as he gets out his phone to go live again. “We’re clearing the air ‘cos people think me and Omi are together but we’re not.”
“We aren’t dating. We just play volleyball together,” Kiyoomi agrees.
“Oi,” Miya scowls, “what this prickly bastard means is that we’re friends—”
He’s right, and Kiyoomi didn't mean to imply otherwise, except… while Kiyoomi has a Thing about correcting mistruths, he also has a Thing about being contrary with Miya. It slips out before he even thinks it through: “Barely.”
Miya attempts to shove him out of frame. “We are friends, goddamnit.”
Enjoying himself, Kiyoomi adds, “Insofar as knowing someone for years constitutes friendship. We’re acquaintances. Coworkers.”
Barely remembering the camera in his hand, Miya turns to glare at him. “Yer little bitchass is prob’ly what it’s like to have a cat, always acting like ya don't—”
“I prefer dogs.”
“I prefer dogs,” he mimics with a horrible whine, “shut up, Omi, I know. And I know because we are friends.”
“Okay, Miya, focus.” Kiyoomi snickers, but he stops teasing him before he gets into a mood. Miya talks with his hands too much, so Kiyoomi takes the phone and leans it against the empty mug on the coffee table before them. “We’re still streaming.”
“Ha, he didn't deny it that time, see? Omi, that's a terrible angle, what the hell, man.”
“Choke,” he says, but doesn't stop him from tweaking it.
“I’d ask Omi to entertain y’all while I fix our setup, but he’ll just tell ya embarrassin’ things about me.” Kiyoomi shrugs, because that’s fair. “Sit tight for a sec.”
Miya starts collecting random books and magazines to make a stand for his phone, and Kiyoomi frowns at his silence. “You're not advertising Osamu’s food? Are you feeling okay?”
The setter lights up, dropping a magazine to point at him. Kiyoomi gets a bad feeling. “Ya know me, internet, so ya hafta know Onigiri Miya. By now ya should also know that Samu’s food’s so good, it can stop one of Omi’s tantrums.”
“Osamu-san cooks great food for the rest of us in order to apologize for absorbing all the brain cells in the womb—”
“Okay, fuck ya, too, Omi-kun.”
“Leaving us to live with the lesser twin,” he finishes. “And fuck off, I don't tantrum.”
“Even if yer being a lying jerk, least with this angle, ya look less like—”
Kiyoomi catches sight of the time and grabs Miya’s leg. “Miya.”
He ruffles Kiyoomi’s hair teasingly as he settles back beside him on the couch. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, internet! Omi Omi is flattered ya think he’s cute enough to date me,” he expertly catches Kiyoomi’s backhanded swing, “and some of the jokes are fuckin’ hilarious, shoutout to that video of our courtside prank war, but we don't wanna—Omi, what did that one—”
“Queerbait,” he supplies. It isn't exactly relevant to the conversation at hand, but that’s definitely what he’s referring to.
“Yeah, that. We don't wanna do that. I am a famous bisexual man,” he winks, “but Omi doesn't even like dudes, so y’all oughta calm down. Right, Omi Omi?”
Kiyoomi might have stopped breathing in shock. He scowls confusedly at the screen for a moment, absorbing too many comments about Miya’s puppylike approval seeking behaviors and his own stated preference for dogs. The psychic damage he takes from that is powerful enough to snap his neck in Miya’s direction. “What are you talking about? I'm gay.”
He gapes. “… yer gay? What the fuck, Omi. These are things yer friends should know! I mean, if yer announcing it to strangers on the internet!” Miya whisper shouts.
Kiyoomi releases a deep sigh and faces the camera. Embarrassing comments be damned, he cannot look at the man beside him anymore; he is exhausting and he is exhausted. “I've been out since college. Everybody knows, Miya.”
“Clearly not everybody, so that’s a damn lie, ya jerk. I coulda been named the chat!”
“As if that’s my fault,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. Miya really likes naming things. He has a weekly pout about not having a singular thing that unites the twins, Suna, and Kiyoomi to title their text thread with—he and Osamu nearly came to blows, not that that’s a novel development for them, when the latter vetoed four assholes on account of not being one himself, so they’ve been at an impasse—but Kiyoomi pays about as much attention to that as he does to everything Miya complains about. Which is to say, he pays very much attention and avoids mentioning it ever except to tease him on occasion.
Fuck, it’s so embarrassing to like this guy, to have liked him and not known; he’s so used to him that he doesn’t even get butterflies about it. And, apparently, the bastard thought he was straight the whole time, so now he can’t be sure if he even likes him back. Kiyoomi wants a refund. He glares at Miya who makes a face and pulls on a curl, so then Kiyoomi flicks him in the center of his forehead and braces himself for the response, but the setter doesn't react beyond catching hold of his hand. Holding Kiyoomi by the wrist just in front of his face, Miya frowns.
“Wait—if we’re both queer, how’re we bait? Explain it to me.”
Kiyoomi tugs emphatically free of his grip. “I did. You don't listen to me.”
“I do. Explain it again and then ya can take yer nap, big baby. D’ya want yer blanket?”
Kiyoomi actually considers that, since this stream is definitely encroaching on his naptime, but shakes his head. They planned to answer viewer questions at some point, and if he gets his blanket it’ll be too easy to fall asleep. He doesn't trust Miya to ignore a comment that encourages him to draw on his sleeping spiker.
“That post was more about not letting corporations profit off the apparent ambiguity. We aren't the only openly queer folks in sports, but people are celebrating us as the only public gay couple with both partners active in the League. And we’re not even a couple.”
“Which is the problem,” the blond summarizes innocently.
“You are so purposefully obtuse that I don't know why I put up with you. You don't deserve this couch.” Miya grins, fangs on display. Kiyoomi should’ve remembered that he knows better than to trust unconditional benevolence from Miya.
“Boohoo, wanna cry ‘bout it on yer ugly ass IKEA couch then, Omi?”
“Yeah, maybe, since you aren't allowed in my apartment anymore.”
“Aww, c’mon! I got ya a new face thing!”
“Tough shit, Miya. You don't get brownie points for cleaning up your own mess; that’s what you're supposed to do as a grown ass man.”
His eyes flash, and Kiyoomi knows he isn’t prepared. “Internet, listen to me. I make good purchases! I’d be a great husband! It’s Omi who doesn't deserve me.”
Kiyoomi almost gives himself whiplash with the haste he takes to avoid seeing the responding comments. “Nobody said we were married, you fox-faced bastard. What does your spousal eligibility have to do with anything? Wait, no, don't an—”
“Nothin’, unless,” he puts on a deeper voice, “hey, baby, can I get yer number?”
Kiyoomi stares soullessly past the camera, staunchly avoiding the comments and Miya’s existence. Tonelessly, he announces, “This is a trainwreck.”
Miya is cackling. “I can't believe ya didn't tell me yer gay. I got so many jokes, Omi.”
“A trainwreck would be less painful, probably. Why am I even here.”
“‘Cos we hafta deal with capitalism and the bait shop,” Miya pokes him, then adjusts. “Internet, I oughta be clear that we really aren’t dating—Omi Omi, don't be too mad.”
Wistfully, closing his eyes and ignoring him, Kiyoomi adds, “I could be at home.”
“Sitting on yer uncomfortable brick couch,” Miya nods, throwing an arm over Kiyoomi’s shoulders, “but yer doin’ this ‘cos the rumors’re fuckin’ up yer chances at scorin’ a hot date.”
“Yes, Miya. That’s my problem. The difficulty of scoring a hot date.” He scrubs his face.
Miya wraps his free hand around Kiyoomi’s jaw, brushing his thumb under his eye. “Omi, yer too pale to do that. Ya look like yer anime blushing, and now the whole internet’s gonna think yer in love with me. How’re we gonna get ‘em to date ya then? I was just ‘bout to announce yer availability an’ everything!”
He pushes the hand off his face. “You think you're so funny—”
“And ‘m fuckin’ right.”
“—but when I finally unalive you, no one will blame me.”
“Don't make up words, college boy, ‘m tryin’ to hook ya up! Internet, if ya try yer best and can deal with our volleyball schedule, Omi-kun’s available for dates! Take him to Onigiri Miya and get a discount!” He grins at Kiyoomi, “Don't say I never did nothin’ nice for ya, Omi Omi.”
Kiyoomi scrambles for positive thoughts—he once read a study about the health benefits of optimism. Then he reads, who am i to judge a married couple's kinks? ho out your husband if that’s what y’all into, which rather suddenly exterminates every thought in his head.
“Okay, I'm ready to die now, actually. End the stream, Miya.”
“We really hafta work on yer shitty personality,” Miya looks at him sideways.
Like he’s one to talk. “I didn't stutter.”
“S’good thing yer pretty, Omi Omi. Okay, internet! It’s naptime for Omi, so bye now!”
Before Kiyoomi can tear into Miya, his phone rings with a series of texts. He pulls it out of his pocket to find four of the messages are from Motoya, but then he gets another one from his girlfriend. Ah, he must think he’s blocked. Well, Kiyoomi has never been one to fix something that isn't broken, and reading one message is better than reading four.
He opens it: kiyo i’m so sorry! i didn’t know u were keeping ur relationship w/ atsumu private i swear!… Blinking and starting over, he only makes it through the same two sentences.
Sighing, Kiyoomi leans into Miya’s side; he feels his pulse point faintly against his forehead, settles into him as his setter smoothly adjusts his hold around him. “Toya was insufferable enough before Suna’s influence.”
Kiyoomi tilts his phone to give him a better view of his screen. “Yer cousin texted ya? Maybe they’re all together now. D’ya check the chat yet? Don't do it now, ‘m still reading!”
s(h)amu: oi, shithead don't be makin deals for my restaurant!
FAVE $NAKE: not knowing your own bf is gay is peak comedy hands down the only convincing lie you ever told but like why did you
s(h)amu: ya since when are y’all not public?
Ah, Miya’s changed the contact names again. As Kiyoomi corrects them, he says, “They’re even less funny than you, and that’s hard to accomplish.”
“Wrong again, Omi-kun. I’m hilarious and they're a bunch of weirdos.” He proceeds to take Kiyoomi’s phone from his hands to name the thread queer chat placeholder title.
When Kiyoomi can’t make a dig at him around his sudden yawn, Miya gets up to grab his blanket. He misses the weight of his arm and the warmth of his body, but then he reminds himself that pining is futile and embarrassing, and he locks the emotions in a box.
Miya obsessively tucks the weighted fabric in around Kiyoomi as he curls up in his usual spot, only stopping to laugh at the glare he gets for his efforts. “You’re such a child.”
“Whatever ya say, Omi-kun. I’m gonna start dinner, so take yer nap.”
And that’s a great suggestion, probably the only one from Miya that Kiyoomi would ever heed, but his phone won’t stop buzzing. Miya left it on the coffee table when he got up, so Kiyoomi can only barely make out enough of the screen to know it’s the Jackals’ group chat blowing up. He’s sure he muted it the last time it was active, but Miya probably restored it, the asshole.
Honestly, what’s with this technological warfare he’s been waging on him recently? Kiyoomi tries to ignore his phone for now, closes his eyes and everything, tries to focus on the sounds of Miya in the kitchen instead. He presses his face into the satin pillowcase he’s supposed to be napping on as if it has soundproofing powers, but he knows it’s a lost cause.
“Miya,” he calls, the whine in his voice undisguised. “The hell are they doing.”
“Jokin’ like we’re fuckin’ with ‘em,” he responds cheerily. Bastard.
Kiyoomi sighs with feeling. Are shitty senses of humor contagious? His phone buzzes again.
It isn’t worth it to untuck himself to respond. He can leave that to Miya. He probably shouldn’t, but he can. His resolve crumbles with each additional notification; he doesn’t have the constitution to ignore them. Miya laughs at him from the kitchen when he releases an angry groan and throws himself into a seated position. He already has his middle finger up for the picture Miya sends in the chat. It comes in just as he’s opening it up.
tongue emoji x3: look what y’all did to sleepin beauty
tongue emoji x3: he's pouting
Kiyoomi had removed emojis from his phone for a reason, but he forgot how bullheaded and annoying Miya could be. It makes no sense that he even needs reminding, but the crush from hell strikes again, he guesses.
We’re really not dating. Stop spamming my phone. I want to sleep.
furry confirmed: WHY
tongue emoji x3: omiomi wishes he could get with me
Their captain’s command that Kiyoomi not respond comes a fraction of a second before he hits send on his own message: I don’t give two shits about you, Miya.
Miya responds before Kiyoomi can apologize to Meian: ya give one then right omi?
Aloud, he snaps, “Miya, you’re so fucking irritating. I'm trying to—”
fuckin the furry?: twenty they're talking to each other
Miya is cackling. “Omi, ya hafta admit—”
“No, you piss-haired bastard—”
O CAP’N MAH CAP’N: None of us are stupid enough to take that bet
O CAP’N MAH CAP’N: Somebody call Atsumu and get them back in here
“It ain’t piss-colored no more!” he squawks. His own awful ringtone cuts him off.
“STOP IGNORING US, TSUM TSUM!” Bokuto bellows down the line. Kiyoomi can hear him from the couch, though the phone is not on speaker. “THIS IS IMPORTANT!”
There’s a small pause, then Miya asks, incredulous, “Wait, Sho-kun? Did ya just conference call me? ‘M not some heckin’ businessman, for—”
“Trust me, Miya,” Kiyoomi mutters, “we know.”
And he should’ve kept his mouth shut because then Miya rather vindictively puts the phone on speaker. Hinata makes a cry of pain. “Omi-san! Tsumu! Do this banter thing after! Answer our texts! We’re dying, you gotta explain what you mean—”
“Yeah, there’s NO WAY you're not dating, RIGHT? You—”
Kiyoomi scowls. “Hang up, Miya.”
Miya derives a childish glee from the way the pair rush to say again, “Answer our te—!”
bokHOOTo: R U back??!!?!?
tangerine sunshine emoji: let’s get back on track !!!
tongue emoji x3: we alr told ya we ain’t datin or nothin
furry confirmed: Really?
furry confirmed: Are you sure?
Yes.
fuckin the furry?: yes as in “we’re clearly fucking with you” or
tongue emoji x3: and omi calls me illiterate
Kiyoomi just wants to take his nap, but he is instead immediately added to a new chat that features the Jackals, Osamu, Suna, and Motoya, entitled SHIT IS DIRE. He briefly considers throwing his phone across the living room, but ultimately decides against it; it would entertain Miya far too much.
Barnes sends screenshots of the other chat, starting from Miya’s entrance post-stream, and Kiyoomi feels almost like he’s misunderstood the sending contact, which is plausible given the ridiculous nicknames Miya’s saved everyone under, but the light theme background confirms it. He still feels like he’s in an alternate reality.
A couple moments later, Motoya responds, ur lying. tell me ur lying. Simultaneously, Suna unleashes the devastating, samu turned off the stove for this, which freezes everything. Kiyoomi hears Miya stop moving around in the kitchen. The two of them stare at each other, frowning, then look back to their phones.
tongue emoji x3: wait y’all serious?
There is an avalanche of keysmashed affirmative responses, but Kiyoomi still needs to clarify, You guys think Miya and I are actually dating? And to the second wave, Why
Better Miya: it would hurt less if you just stabbed me thru my throat
Suna R: i'm sending this to everyone i know
bokHOOTo: U kno U wore tsumtsum’s hoodie the whole time rite???
bokHOOTo: that’s how everyone found out about me and Keiji in high school!!!
Bokuto will soliloquy about his partner given even the suggestion of a chance. It’s nauseating, sometimes in an endearing way, but Kiyoomi actually needs this Miya situation resolved right now, so he informs the chat that he’s wearing the hoodie because he always feels he’s freezing to death at Miya’s place, as the setter confirms simultaneously.
Suna R: and sitting a cm apart with MIYA on your chest warms you up?
tongue emoji x3: me n omi are friends why can't we sit close ?
K Motoya: so u need ur arm around him so he can't get up when he jokes abt going home?
Miya’s a touchy person, and he was just dicking around like usual.
K Motoya: “like usual” IS THE POINT
K Motoya: he touched your FACE more in that one video than the rest of your teammates combined have ever even been able to high five you
???
I know his hands are clean.
O CAP’N MAH CAP’N: Dear god
Suna R: pretty sure she’s abandoned us on this one
K Motoya: shit IS dire oh god it is so dire
I don't really get it, but let’s speed this up. If you hate me just say that.
tongue emoji x3: im a goddamn blessing n yer lucky to know me
You're a goddamned blight and I’ll be lucky to survive you.
furry confirmed: Please don't spam the chat with your bizarre flirting I am on the verge of tears
tall boi: you have to see how confusing it is for us
tongue emoji x3: omi is literally so mean to me like all the time wdym flirting
Suna R: clearly you're into that
tangerine sunshine emoji: but that’s ok tsumtsum! we don’t kinkshame in this house!!
tongue emoji x3: maybe y’all all have it out for ME tryna tie me down to this asshole
Well, that’s about as much as Kiyoomi can stand of this conversation, then. He informs the chat that he’s going to take his nap now, and is promptly attacked.
Better Miya: with your personal blanket and special hair pillow in your usual spot on tsumu's couch, you mean
fuckin the furry?: yk since it’s friday night and you two are having your regularly scheduled dinner
tall boi: not to be confused with your thurs movie nights in sakusa’s BEDROOM
O CAP’N MAH CAP’N: Whose turn is it to host your homemade Sunday brunch not-dates?
After that attack by Meian, Kiyoomi leaves the chat and shuts down his phone. He locates and unlocks Miya’s iPad to do some mindless scrolling until he can fall asleep. He would very much like to think about anything else right now, but, shocker, turns out they’re trending.
He’s scrolled through maybe a half dozen articles referencing them before he senses Miya standing before him. “Omi, after careful reflection, I think we just lied to all of the internet.”
“Not convincingly at all, either, according to Buzzfeed.”
“Omi,” he whines, twinged with nerves, of all things. Miya has his own Thing against lying to people who support him, but he wouldn't be nervous to tell Kiyoomi unless—
“If you have something to say, then just say it, Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi maintains eye contact as Miya blinks at him, then grins. He picks up his legs so he can sit then, prodding at the spiker, says, “Omi. Kiyoomi. We’re dating, so let’s kiss, too.”
“Atsu, you're not going to like the person I become if I don't get a nap very soon,” he warns, but he still resettles atop the setter’s thighs as directed.
“Doubt that,” he snorts. “Omi, ya can't call me that an’ then not lemme do nothin’ ‘bout it. C’mon, just one. It’ll be quick, Kiyoomi, promise.”
And he doubts that, but just to avoid confusion, into his mouth he says, “You better not.”
Two and a half hours after their live stream ended, and one hour after Suna posted a screen recording of SHIT IS DIRE with edits to include his running commentary, input from the other group members, and several GIF sets, Atsumu makes a post across all his socials.
hey internet! turns out omiomi is actually not available at any time ever again for any of y’all to date, he writes, attached to an image: Kiyoomi is curled up in his lap, a sleepy glare tucked mostly into his setter’s neck and Atsumu’s possessive hand tangled in his curls. What’s maybe the lighting or definitely a hickey on the hinge of the spiker’s jaw matches the dark spots near the hollow of Atsumu’s throat and doesn't overshadow the smug grin on the blond’s face.
When Kiyoomi wakes up to see Suna’s changed their group chat name to Miya 4, he’ll be sure to pick a fight, but for now, there’s no reason to be separated from Atsumu’s warmth.